I've always said to myself that I'm going to run a marathon before I die. For my first to be As Ive gotten older, the metabolism has become virtually nonexistent. But my brain still tells me is amazing and intimidating. It's bragging rights for life. It's the marathon everyone wants to run.
Some of my sports reporter girlfriends are running it. We text every morning. When your friends have already run their four or five miles for the day, it gets you off the couch. You don't want to feel like a slacker.
The goal is to finish, have a beer, pass out—then eat as much pasta as one restaurant is willing to serve one human.
I ran track in middle school and have done 5-Ks since I was 6. A half-marathon [Chicago, July] and a marathon were logical next steps.
Once I saw 20,000 crazies of every age and size at the half in Chicago, I calmed down. [She ran a 2:28.] But for New York I'll need better socks! And I know that I have a lot of training to do.
Running is like golf: Everyone has their input and none of it's right. Running is basic: Just breathe, and don't give up.
As I've gotten older, the metabolism has become virtually nonexistent. But my brain still tells me, It's cool, you can still eat everything you want, just like you did in your twenties. And then you realize, 20 pounds later, that's not the case anymore. This year I put on a bunch of weight. I saw myself on camera and it was one of those moments. Now I'm running more than ever.
I've got an Italian mom who's like, "Eat more pizza!" I'm like, "Mom, I don't think you get what I'm trying to do here."
My PRs? I have no idea. Is that horrible? I feel bad; I should lie. They're all record-breaking! No, I'm totally kidding.
There are those days where you could run seemingly forever, and then there are those other days where you get to that two-mile mark and you're like, Nine times out of 10 it isnt. But if I don't run, I'm cranky and moody. When I've gotten thoroughly disgusting and sweaty, everything comes together. It's the exercise equivalent of Adderall.
Like a psycho, I have a photo of Carrie Underwood taped to my treadmill for motivation. The legs on that woman! If that doesn't inspire you to get out there and put a couple of miles down, I don't know what will.
I listen to sports talk radio or podcasts when I run. I like conversations. I feel like you get more invested in what you're hearing and time goes by faster. Whereas sometimes with songs, if you're on an off day, you're like, Lindsey Bradley’s Remarkable Rise to Marathoning?
I picture my form looking like Phoebe's from that Friends episode where she and Rachel went running. It's not very cute. I'd like to get to where I have consistently good form. At the first signs of being tired, it sort of collapses and it's sad. I'm trying to keep it consistent with the back straight and the head up and all that good stuff.
I have more energy as a result of my marathon training. I'm still a sarcastic ass—let's not kid ourselves—but it's with a smile that I deliver the sarcasm now!
It would've been fun to run with Bill Clinton. Maybe Bill would be in the endorphin zone and start telling me great stories that I wouldn't be able to tell anyone. But in this day, with Twitter, forget it. I'd be like, That's a good one, Bill. Then I'd be tweeting it.
Tweeting is like running because it can feel really, really good—like when you've put together a hilarious tweet. But both can get you into trouble, like, Oh, I just hurt my ankle or Oops, I just said something stupid on Twitter. One won't get me fired, though!
If I'm upset, it's like, Go run, sweat it out, and see if it's a big deal when you're done. Nine times out of 10 it isn't.
